


Lament

by maharieel



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Death, Drugs, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, suicide attempt (referenced)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7223431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maharieel/pseuds/maharieel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David Anderson comforts a grieving Noa Shepard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lament

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm kind of proud of this, even though it always makes me sad. I hope you enjoy .

Anderson’s fist was still twitching as he stormed into his office, grateful that Udina had left in the opposite direction. The man had his uses, but there came a point when Anderson got sick and tired of all the snivelling politics and lies pouring from the Councillors mouth. It was one thing to turn on another species, but how Udina could just stand there and agree to ground the only ship – and Commander – that possibly had a chance against Saren was betrayal, pure and simple.

Despite himself, he locked the door – he didn’t have the time or patience for anymore surprise attacks.

 _A strong drink, some quiet music and a comfy lounge. That’s what I need right now._ He almost laughed at the idea. It had been years since he’d had a proper break, and even being desk-bound nowadays, he still found his schedule full. _That’s war for you, I guess._ Not that anyone was openly calling it that yet. 

Anderson knew though, just as much as everyone on the Normandy knew: whether they were fighting Saren, or the Geth, or the Reapers, they were at war. The sooner people started to accept that the sooner they could get on and win it.

He was about to collapse into his desk chair when the musky smell of smoke hit him. Without even looking he knew that smell – his memory had yet to let him down as the years went on – and what it entailed. Wandering onto his balcony, he got his answer in the form of Noa slumped in the corner, eyes vacantly watching the bustle of the Presidium below. She had a joint dangling from her fingertips, and a small cloud of smoke was hovering around her. In moments like these he couldn’t help but see the bloodstained thug of a girl he’d saved from death row eleven years ago. It wasn’t a comforting train of thought. 

“I’m sorry about the ship, Shepard,” he said, contemplating whether or not to join her on the ground. 

Her sigh vibrated through her. “It’s payback for all the times I cut the connection during our meetings. Either that, or they really are just dickheads.” She took another pull, taking her time as the smoke slowly seeped out between her chapped lips. The laugh that escaped her sent the cloud scattering. “I kinda deserve it I guess.”

Standing was too awkward. Anderson lowered himself down against the wall, feeling every joint in his legs creaking as he went. He needed to get to the gym more. "Usually I’d agree with you, but not on this one.”

“Wow, I feel so much better already.”

He shook his head as she huffed out another laugh. Even after she’d fallen silent, he could still see the smirk playing on her lips as she breathed a puff of smoke at him. He almost choked on it, it was so strong. 

“I thought you said you were sticking to the soft stuff.”

Her smirk fell into a scowl. “Who’s ever gotten anything out of that? It’s shit as.”

“Typical,” he muttered. He reached a hand out in front of her. “Well come on then.”

Noa raised an eyebrow. 

“Even an old blighter like me needs a bit of relief every now and then,” he defended himself. “Especially after being stuck with politician’s all day.”

She sighed, giving him a quick look before handing it over. Her eyes didn’t linger long and he was grateful. If they had, she would have seen the face he pulled as he failed miserably to hide his coughing. Noa simply shook her head as she took back her weed. _I’m surprised she hasn’t dropped dead yet._ He said as much, hoping to lighten the dreary mood encompassing her, but to no avail. 

Despite their common disagreements, he had come to know Noa rather well in their eleven years. He still got frustrated with her, still managed to lose his temper when she (occasionally) disappointed him, but he had also come to admire the woman she had become. Of course, there were still aspects of her from her street days – aspects Anderson didn’t think were so easily erased – but she had changed a lot too. He was proud of her, in a weird sort of way, even if she did annoying him endlessly. _That’s what kids do I guess._

He also knew her tells. It had taken a while at first, and even now he sometimes struggled to gauge her emotions or mood, but it was easier. After Akuze he’d been one of the few people to notice the slight change in her demeanour – if he hadn’t, she would have been another corpse in the graveyard at Vancouver. It wasn’t a big change, but it was clear that something on her circuit board was off, so to speak. 

Today was one of those days.

The thing was, Anderson didn’t even think it was because she was grounded. Of course she’d be angry about it, but the frown playing on her features spoke more of sadness rather than hate. The fact that she was smoking again only reinforced his theory. 

Williams. 

It had barely been thirty-six hours and already most people seemed to have moved on, more concerned with keeping Shepard out of things and shoving threats of war under the carpet. God, the crew hadn’t even had proper time to mourn before they were thrown back into the political shit-storm that was the Citadel. From what he’d seen and heard, Noa and Ashley had been rather close. Noa wasn’t known to deal with her grief very well. It was only a matter of time before she snapped. 

“It’s always shit right?” she asked.

He didn’t bother asking for confirmation on the unspoken 'what' in her question; she knew he knew. “With everyday soldiers, I guess it gets easier. But friends . . . yeah, it’s always shit.”

Her sigh spoke volumes. She was close. “One minute I wanna deck someone, next I’m acting all soft and weepy. I hate it. It’s fucking messed.”

Anderson leant his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “It’s human, Shepard. If you felt anything less, I’d suspect you for a synthetic.”

And then she broke.

Everything came crashing down all at once, but he was ready for it. She flung her joint over the balcony still burning and swore after it loud enough you could’ve heard from outside his locked office door. They sat like that for a few seconds, her breathing slowly running mad until the first sob broke through, then the second and third, until she was nothing but an incoherent mess of snot and tears with weed on her breath and tangles in her hair. He put a hand on her thigh and squeezed. The soft whimper that escaped her lips made his stomach knot, but he didn’t move to hug her; that wasn’t what she needed. She needed to sit and be free to let her pain and grief flow from her and she couldn’t do that when he was clutching her to his chest. He guided her head to his shoulder, though.

Her voice barely held together when she spoke. “I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.”

“Cry,” he said. He rubbed circles into her shoulder. “Just get it out, kid.”

So she did. For what felt like hours she cried and sniffled and swore. Her head didn’t move from his shoulder once; he could feel her tears dampening the material of his shirt. 

She wouldn’t apologise, nor would she thank him, but he wouldn’t ask her to. He knew what she needed, and he’d given it. She didn’t owe him a damn thing.


End file.
